#Eric Hand Prints

[arthistoryanimalia]

#TextileTuesday :

Textile, California Quail

Designed by Tony Sharrar, Manufactured by Eric Hand Prints, USA, 1952

Cotton, screen printed on plain weave; H 102.5 x W 122 cm (40 3/8 x 48 1/16 in.)

Cooper Hewitt 1953-89-1

[erebus0dora]

some of you asked if you could print/chew/otherwise consume my Devil's Minion art, and i did ask if you needed a masterpost on the topic, so-

may i offer you this Google Drive folder, o gentle creatures..?

i'll add more, and i believe it's sensible to add the links to the original posts with these images, but frankly speaking i am chill with whatever way you use or share them if that's for your personal use

just keep them free, that's my only request

what was born as a free art should remain free art

any questions left? ask them, i don't bite unless you would really like that

now, have a peaceful day and my digital hug

💜UPDATE💜

it feels appropriate to make it a fully shaped masterpost, links and all, so... links to each and every artwork on the theme - below the cut

the Tarot cards (Hermit/Death)

"...rest" (but mirrored)

first take on Armand that looks like anime

some thoughts on the age of the magnolia tree

human!Daniel deliberately thinking of beautiful things

The Magnolia Tee Print

animated Daniel (literally, as in, a gif)

a very vampire!Daniel, thoroughly researched

Byzantine Icon Armand

a tender moment which is vague but there you go

sleeping Armand from a fic

hugs (the quiet)

more hugs (abrupt)

more hugs (headphones on, updated)

Daniel gently cleaning Armand's face

some extra somfte quiet gremlin

crack!chibi!Daniel on tees

crack!chibi!Daniel on teefs

sneaky sleepy uncertain hug for another fic

moar tender touch for another fic

beige pillow

the return of the beige pillow

"i see you"

kissing the maker's hand

more tender face-touching, couldn't choose one

Daniel comes to Louvre

Daniel collects art

four pages of Armand running and Daniel chasing

Hug The Gremlin

Hug The Gremlin For He Is Art

Armand as a candle, literally

Armand and magnolia petals (the art)

Armand and magnolia petals (the sculpture)

(slightly off-topic, but) Perforated Heart because ffs Eric knows his shit

good old don't you maître me thing which i keep forgetting to include

Only Fangs Molloy - keep in mind there's a JPEG and a TIFF version in the Drive folder, the TIFF works better if u wanna print it

(+bonus TALK SHIT GET BIT file is also there)

A LOT of traditional stuffs, scanned in 350 dpi for your entertainment

Daniel gently feeding his feral master, which is honestly one of the most tender things i have created

cozy sated hugs on a sofa

a domestic scene of Daniel waiting for Armand to enter his space, i suck at descriptions

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 1, Luke

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 2, Assad

an inspired old dogboy Molloy because face it, the world needs more hot aged people

trad art bonus! fighting with graphite dust, vol. 3, Armand

trad art bonus! Salomé Armand (+ vid)

MORE trad art! sculpting dat old hot man

what happens when you use ur own slightly inaccurate sculpture as a ref

EVEN MORE trad art!! Eric vs. watercolours, for his face compels me and his wild ig inspires me (+ vid)

TRAD ART AGAIN, since i found paper that looks like fun base for bookmarks (+ vid and bonus Daniel)

"he is behind my back, isn't he" (+ linked explanation)

tbc🫀

"he is 100% behind my back and i have ideas about it 😈"

[aphrodilac]

friends with benefit, ft. eric sohn.

nsfw. mdni. inspired by /his/ picture which i believe all of you will figure it out. tags: afab reader. unprotected sex.

the second eric opened his apartment door, you pulled his t-shirt collar and crashed your lips together. it wasn’t even the soft one, not the usual welcome kiss you both always had when he welcomed you into his personal space. it was the rough one, a desperate kiss you rarely gave to him outside his or your bedroom. but he must have known better —he of course knew the best, so he decided to play along with a game he had started hours ago, back when you were still stuck with your friends to catch up and have some chats. 

he brought you straight into his room, pulling you closer and closer until you ended up caging him between your thighs. he wore the same gray sweatpants as what you spotted in the picture he sent to you —the thirst trap he sent to you in broad daylight. you could absolutely feel his bulge on your clothed core, sending some warm and giddy feeling, as if it lured you to rub yourself and dry hump him. so you spent some time there, curling your fingers to his pants rope with your spare hand sneaking into his shirt, finding the one you are looking for. and eric wasn’t stupid, by any means. he knew that you wanted him to take his shirt off like what you saw in the picture he gave to you, so he complied. 

it didn’t take much time until you bent your body down and for your tongue to start licking his abdomen, up to his chest, and focusing on his tensed nipples. your eyes never took off from his, wanting him to watch the sight of you exploring —enjoying every bit of his skin. not even when he started groping your ass. not even when he tried to throw off your trousers from your body. but it took seconds until both of you got what you wanted, to finally get down on his cock and for him to finally fill you up. it was the loud one, his bed wouldn’t stop squeaking, but did he even care? and neither did you. there was nothing in your mind except how you devoured this time the most, the way you bounced on top of him and how he kept thrusting you like a madman every time you slowed down for a bit. 

you didn’t think you could let eric go by any minute as if you still couldn’t get enough of his fingermark printed on your body. even after he filled you so much that you could sense how it would leak and drip down the moment he pulled out, it still wasn’t enough. 

[ericnyquist]

Annihilation No. 2 screen print is available today! Measuring 9 inches wide x 12.75 inches tall. Hand-printed by the artist, 2-color, on 230gsm Coventry Rag paper. Edition of 250 prints. Each is signed, numbered, and includes a certificate of authenticity. I am also offering framed prints on my web shop.

Original end page artwork for Annihilation By: Jeff VanderMeer.

[ms-hunter59]

through the grapevines - Nanami x reader (18+) | pt. 2

Summary:

Tipsy, after-date banging sesh, not much more to it. Established relationship, read part one for context (but not necessary).

* * * * *

Nanami’s strong arms enveloped you from behind as he kicked the front door close with his foot. You let out a soft hum and melted against his embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was at this point. His touch, his scent, his presence… These were all things you grew to know so well you couldn’t imagine your life without them now.

His nose ran along the side of your neck, stopping at the base to press a gentle kiss against your skin. “You get needy when you’re drunk,” you said, though your tone was far from scolding. Nanami chuckled, peppering kisses down your shoulder.

“Can you blame me? It’s enough work to hold back when I’m sober,” he replied. You turned around in his embrace to face him. Your gaze ran over his rosy cheeks, and you wondered how you hadn’t eaten him already. You were both the right amount of tipsy, just like you had been when you had first met. Just enough for the butterflies in your stomach to fly around and cause chaos in your head as well.

Your hands slid down to the buttons on his coat to distract yourself from his blush-inducing eyes. “I’m making us tea,” you said as you undid the buttons one by one.

“Sweetheart, you can’t even reach the tea shelf,” he replied, shrugging his coat off and hanging it on a hook beside the door. He returned the favour, and once you were both coatless, he took your hand and led you towards his kitchen.

“Yeah, but that’s because you refuse to switch the tea and spice shelf,” you replied. He leaned against the counter as you began to pour water into the kettle and set it up to boil. “Besides, you have high shelves in general. I don’t know what kind of giant built this apartment, but it’s ridiculous. The shelves in the bathroom are even worse. I mean, what if there were kids here? Would they have to haul a ladder with them everywhere they go?”

Nanami smiled at your incessant grumbling. “I can get a new apartment if you want.”

“With low shelves?”

“With low shelves. And a balcony. You’re always talking about a balcony.”

You met his gaze, the small smile on his face infecting your own. “You’re making it sound like this new apartment of yours will be mine as well.”

“Only if you want it to be,” he replied, taking a few steps closer to you until you were trapped against the counter. He reached up and pulled down a box of teas from the shelf above you. Your eyes landed on the couple undone buttons on his shirt, on the sliver of exposed skin that made your pulse quicken.

He placed the box down next to you, but didn’t make an effort to give you space. You didn’t mind, though. If it were up to you, you would have merged together with him by now. Atom on atom, no space in sight.

You had talked about living together a few times before, but you had never actually had a serious conversation about it. The topic wasn’t much of a surprise, though. You slept over at each other’s places more often than you slept alone. At first you had been convinced it had just been the honeymoon phase, but it had been over a year at this point, and you were still acting like a pair of lovesick puppies. Even your friends Josie and Eric, thanks to whom you had met in the first place, often mentioned how you were practically attached at the hip.

“We can put that cat shaped rug of yours in the living room, and I’m sure we can find a place for all your plants as well,” he said. He picked out two incredibly tacky matching mugs that you had received from Josie on your first year anniversary. They had “Mr” and “Mrs” in a disgusting pink font printed on them, and while marriage was something you definitely hadn’t discussed yet, Nanami had decided to keep them in his apartment, and they’d become your go-to mugs whenever you were together.

“And can I pick out the shower curtain as well?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist as he poured the boiling water into the mugs. He raised an eyebrow.

“You have something against my taste in shower curtains?”

“No, I’m just saying we could get a prettier one than just a plain white.”

“Then I get to choose the wall decorations.”

“Ooh, yeah! I really like the ones you have in here already.”

Nanami’s smile widened. “Who knew living with you would be so easy?”

“Well, I’m an angel, I’d be offended if you thought otherwise.”

Nanami put the kettle down and his hands settled on your hips. “I can’t argue with you on that one. You’re the picture of perfection.”

“Do I get a reward for being so perfect?” you asked, a sly smile spreading across your face. Nanami returned your smile. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles against your hips before they hooked onto the belt loops on your jeans. He chuckled at the look of surprise on your face.

“You’re right, I guess I don’t reward you enough every day. How despicable of me. How would you like it, my love? Multiple short sessions throughout the day, or perhaps one long one? I’m sure 12 hours would be enough to sate your need—“

“12 hours?” Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Nanami’s smile only widened.

“Too little? Fine, we can try 24, but I do have some limits.”

A familiar heat spread through your body at his words. “When I said reward, I meant chocolate or something… Though I like the sound of your idea,” you replied. Nanami tilted your chin up, running his fingers along your jawline.

“Yeah? You like the sound of 24 hours of pure bliss?” he practically purred, making your face all red.

“Well, I don’t wanna wear you out…”

“Wear me out? Sweetheart, as long as I see you’re enjoying yourself, I could go for days.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss on your forehead. Then on the tip of your nose. Then on the corner of your mouth. Then, he captured your lips with a gentleness that made your knees weak.

He pulled you even closer by your belt loops, one hand cupping your cheek before sliding to the back of your neck. Your fingers found the buttons on his shirt, and just like his coat, you undid them with practiced ease. You could probably undress him blind with your hands tied behind your back.

Maybe some other time.

Nanami hoisted you up into his arms and walked with you into the bedroom. His mouth was still attached to yours, kissing you like a man starved. His hands were everywhere, yet it still wasn’t enough. You needed one in your hair, one under your shirt, one unzipping your jeans, one intertwined with your own.

You could never get enough of him.

He lay you down on the mattress, taking a step back to catch his breath. The sight of him standing between your legs, looking all tall and handsome and absolutely mouthwatering, drove you mad with need. “You’re too far away,” you said, your voice coming out like a pathetic little whine. His expression softened and he reached out to stroke your cheek.

“You know it’s hard to undress you when I’m lying on top of you.”

He threw his shirt onto the floor, and yours followed suit. He gently pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, his knees on each side of you. His lips met yours in a searing kiss once more, and your fingers slid into his hair, pulling him infinitely closer.

Every breath, every touch, every kiss made you more high than any drug ever would. He knew your body better than you did yourself, he knew which buttons to press, which spots to focus on. He would take note of every new reaction you had, and he’d use it against you next time. Over the months you’d been together, he was aware of every single weakness you had, and he used it to his advantage in the best way possible.

He whispered sweet nothings into your ear as he unravelled the very fabric of your existence with his hand between your legs. He took great pleasure in hearing your moans, and they only seemed to motivate him to make you feel even better. He’d always been more of a giver than a receiver, and while it sometimes made you feel guilty, he would always reassure you and tell you that giving you pleasure made him the happiest man alive.

“Kento…” You threw your head back, your legs beginning to shake around his hand. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a soft hum of approval.

“Go on, baby, let go for me.”

“I’m so–”

“I know, you’re doing so well. If you cum now you can ride me right after.”

Those words were enough to send you flying over the edge. Your back arched and he captured your moans with his mouth. He pulled his fingers out, leaving you unbearably empty. You knew what was coming, though, so you didn’t let yourself be disappointed for too long.

He didn’t give you much time to catch your breath, as he flipped you over so that you were straddling his lap. His hands went to your waist and yours held onto his shoulders. He gave you the sweetest smile on earth, one that spread through your body like you were being dipped into honey. With one encouraging nod, you began to move.

“Oh, fuck…” he groaned, his eyes rolling back. His grip on your waist tightened and he leaned in to your shoulder, pulling one of your bra straps down with his teeth. You had a hard time keeping your composure with what he was doing and the way he felt inside you, but you knew you needed to move in order to reach that delicious high once more.

Nanami was a strong man, but your ability to reduce him to a moaning mess was something that still shocked you to this day. He loved seeing you on top of him, riding him, taking what you wanted from him.

“God, yes, just like that…” His hands slid up your back to unclasp your bra, and he threw it over his shoulder without a care in the world. You rolled your hips against him, just how he liked it, and he looked up at you as if the slow pace was both a blessing and torture at the same time. “Speed up, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.”

You gave him a devilish grin, slowing down even more on purpose. Nanami nipped at the skin above your chest, making you gasp. “Biting me won’t get you what you want,” you said with a small, playful pout.

“You love me, don’t you?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Then be a good girl and speed up.”

You practically shattered at his request, but you needed to hear one more thing before you gave in to your desires. “Say please.”

“Pretty please, sweetheart. You’ll make us both so happy.”

Happy was an understatement for what you felt when you both came at the exact same time, panting and sticky and beaming like idiots. He held you close, rubbing soothing circles onto your bare back as you breathed heavily against his ear. Your whole body buzzed with energy, yet you felt like you wouldn’t be able to move for another century.

“I think 24 hours would kill us,” you said, still trying to catch your breath. Nanami let out a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“Well, at least I’d die happy. Wouldn’t you?”

[bludkin]

Perforated Heart Book Design by Faceout Books

Perforated Heart by Eric Bogosian Designed by Jason Heuer

About the Design: "I was very excited to be assigned Eric Bogosian’s latest novel. It comes on the heels of his two previous novels that were designed by Kevin Brainard (Mall) and Carin Goldberg (Wasted Beauty). As if that wasn’t intimidating enough, Mr. Bogosian’s wife Jo Bonney is, among other things, a cover designer herself. I felt all these factors combined would give me a chance to approach it with an expanded design sense.

"I began the process by researching heart images. In the back of my mind, after looking at Carin Goldberg’s cover, I thought I might be able to do a cover without type. The literal interpretation of the title, die cutting or “perforating” a dotted line image, with a red foil case underneath immediately came to mind. Foregoing other ideas I ran down to the art shop and purchased a paper punch die set and went about creating the fully realized comp with the case beneath. I illustrated the case to represent the main character’s (Richard Morris) journal writing-younger self from 1970’s New York City. This also left enough room for the die cut to show only red. "With the exception of this book, I usually present 3 or more ideas for a cover design, with variations. I felt so strongly about this one that I chanced showing my art director, Jackie Seow, only this concept. She strongly supported the idea and brought it to the jacket meeting where everyone got behind the project. The only small objection was the image-only cover. I hand-drew the lettering based on the Compacta I was going to use on the spine. "Now we had to see if it could be produced, or at least produced within budget. After the early approval there was time for production experimentation. With the help of our printer representative, Paul Nardi, we found a machinist out of New Hampshire that could drill the holes, as the approximate 1000 were too many for a die cut to hold. They sent us a sample so we could see that it would keep its structural integrity without tearing, and it did. (see image below). But alas, it was way out of our budget range. I already had a secondary execution ready since there were early warnings the holes weren’t economically viable. With the red foil debossed dots we had press proofs printed with 3 finishes, the two not chosen were all gloss and all matte. I was able to keep the printed case because it was still within budget and part of the concept of duality from the novel. "At the end of this process I can appreciate the anomaly of presenting one idea and having the art director, editor, publisher, author, author’s wife, and sales people all consent on a concept. Really, the hardest part was the production and even that was a fun exploration."

It took some sleuthing to dig through the Wayback Machine to find this interesting defunct blog post about the design process of this book. Shoutout to The Book Design Review, which piqued my interest. So cool to know that Jo had input on this design! I wonder if she gives input for all of Eric's books as she's a book designer herself.

[samonroegf]

⠀ dealer!sam monroe x cheerleader!reader

⠀　　⠀　　　　back to school

⠀　　⠀　　⠀　series masterlist

monday morning, the kind that every teenage girl regrets. the kind where you have to worry about seeing a man you're upset with. your parents are back in town, and you have to plant a happy smile on your face.

you bound down the stairs, heading for the kitchen and getting some breakfast. you sit on the bar next to your father, he's drinking coffee and staring angrily at the wall. it's always something better left unsaid, because once he starts there's no coming back from the screaming match that's bound to happen.

as soon as you're done eating, you give each of your parents a kiss on the cheek and walk to your car. they barely acknowledge you, as per usual. little nods and hums when you speak, the only things they care for were reputations. how people see their lovely daughter, such bullshit.

once in your car, you just sigh, and start it mumbling to yourself about how this day better go half-way decent or it would be your last. it was an empty promise, but it made you chuckle dryly. you put on a playlist to try and lighten your spirits, it doesn't really work.

the drive takes entirely too long and not long enough at the same time. fifteen minutes will never be enough.

you're greeted by your friends as you exit your car, bright smiles and asking how your weekend went. lying, you tell them that it was a quiet weekend, not doing too much.

“well, you know what i heard?” the brunette spoke up, kylee, she giggled as she spoke, holding a hand over her mouth. after spending so much time with sam, you realize you don't really like your friends. losing some kind of sparkle after your deep talks, cheap gossip seems so futile.

“what?” your eyebrows raised, and worry set deep in your chest. the last thing you need is the most back-stabbing girls you ever met to know about your weekend adventures.

another one finishes for her, this time a redhead with olive skin. lila, with a bit more of an accusatory tone, “eric and sam monroe got into a fight, some people are saying it's about you.”

your world pauses around you for a moment, sam's injuries weren't from a deal gone bad, but because he was probably standing up for you. eric was always one to have to run his mouth, serves him right.

“yeah, eric had to go to the hospital. he's fine. sam is insane.” the third girl from your close-knit group spoke up, bethany. she spit sam’s name like it was a curse, and while you were deeply upset with him, you wanted to rip her head off. you swallow hard and just hum, “oh, that's odd.” it was spoke in a dejected tone. you wanted to yell at sam and thank him, maybe cry in his arms too. you felt so conflicted.

the loudspeaker garbles out, “sam monroe, y/n y/l/n, and eric taylor report to the principal’s office at once.” and naturally of course, you wouldn't be let off that easy.

you cursed under your breath, and made the walk, the girls you call your friends whispering about you as you do.

you find sam already sat inside, his eyes are puffy and he's looking right at you, but you refuse to make eye contact. eric is also there, sitting in the chair farthest from sam. this puts you between the pair. his face is different colors of reds, blues and purples, yet he still has a smug look planted on his face.

as he turns his head to give you a disgusted look, there's a very obvious print of sam's ring. you almost want to laugh. it's exactly what he deserves.

you want to look at sam, stare into his soul, hope it'll tell you something. how could he beat up eric for something that has to do with you, and then continue to abandon you. confusion floods your senses.

“i’m sure we're all aware of why we're here,” the principal finally talks, he sounds tired.

“i’m not.” you speak up, your voice firm. you'd be damned if you're getting dragged to the depths of hell because of teenage boys.

“mr. monroe, please inform, ms. y/l/n, why we're here.” the principal has a warning tone, obvious this might be the final straw for sam. and with all things considered, you're not gonna let that happen.

“i uh,” sam's hand comes to scratch the back of his neck, he shakes his head defeated. he doesn't want to tell you, you can see it in his body language. the usually confident boy is curling into himself.

you finally look at him, since he has to talk to you. your eyebrows are furrowed and he can see it, you're disappointed. or hurt, he can't exactly tell. now that you can see him, you can tell life hasn't been exactly peaches for him either. his face is splotchy, eyes red and swollen, hair messier than normal. there's even skin missing from his lips from picking and biting them. you were still hurt, still angry, still upset. however, everything in you is telling you to pull this boy into your arms.

you have to protect yourself, you can't let him hurt you. but could you let him hurt himself in the meantime? you didn't know.

after sam finally recalls the fight, leaving out the parts of weed, which you were well aware of. your heart leaped once again, this man played your heartstrings like a bass.

you gave a dirty look to eric, and a soft one to sam. you can't just hurt him when he's looking at you like a puppy that's been kicked one too many times.

“i could be wrong, but isn't anything that happens off school property not the school's business? isn't that what the school board says when a kid gets cyber bullied and they kill themself? it's not the school's fault, cause it happened at home?”

the principal sighs, putting his head in his hands. it was obvious this was being pushed by eric, or perhaps his parents. probably to get sam kicked out of school, but this wouldn't be the first time you argued with school officials.

eventually argument leads to silence and the principal waves you all out, despite eric’s disdain. you step out of the office, now a scowl on your face.

the hallway’s empty, and since you and sam have classes in the same block, you and him walk away from eric. you wait until you're not in earshot, and pull sam into the girl's bathroom by the collar of his shirt.

you can tell he wants to talk to you, to explain something away. you'd rather rip the fucking bandaid off.

“quit with the puppy eyes and talk," your voice is cold and angry all at once. sam has never even heard you use a tone close to this before. especially not with him, it made anxiety creep up his back. he hated that you were mad at him, he almost wanted to leave.

“i’m sorry, cheer, i-i,” he chews on his lip again, and you want to roll your eyes. your arms come to cross over your chest, and it reminds sam of the beginning, of how it all started.

“you, what? you're stupid? i know that. you're an ass? i know that, too. gonna tell me anything I don't know?” you're spitting venom at him, and he flinches at it. you cringe at the look on his face, you just want to shake him and tell him to make a choice.

he laughs, it's cold and dry, and sounds a bit like he might cry again, you try to keep up a harsh exterior but your resolve is slowly crumbling.

“i am, i am all of those things, and you, you're perfect and i, i, you don't, you shouldn't have to put up with me, my bullshit, i,” his voice is breaking, it's shaky, and he's shaking his head.

you scoff, eyebrows furrowing together, “really? that's what this whole disappearing act is about? because you feel bad for yourself? god, sam, this is bullshit. this is shitty, you're being shitty to me. you're right, I don't deserve this. be a fucking grown up for once in your life and take responsibility.” you're laughing, cold, like steel. your laugh comes out angry, while his was so sad.

“we had sex and when i woke up, you were gone, fucking ghost, and all because your ego is a fucking mess? you acting like some fuckboy who just learned empathy. stay the fuck away from me until you can act mature and be serious about this. i am not some goddamn plaything you can just put down when you feel like it, okay? all or nothing, I'm done doing this shit. i love you, and it's killing me." you were crying now, your tears match the ones spilling from his eyes, as you tear him apart.

you wipe harshly at the fast falling tears, “goodbye sam.” and you storm from the bathroom, out of the side door of the building. you leave the school, you don't know where you're going but you can't be here. the day's just started and you're already done.

[keaganz]

I had to use this song 😅 it's haunting my dreams. IYKYK

Letters

Part1, Part2

Rating; Mature MDI | Relationship; pre-Sam O'Brien/Gator Tillman| CW; still swearing and explicit materiaal| Tags; developing relationship, pen pals, letter writing, Roy Tillman's A+ parenting, he legally names his only child Gator that man is Trash, Gator's trauma about his name, Gator has Daddy issues, again Roy is Trash!

Part 3

“Hey Sammy! You've got mail!”

Elliot says in a sing-song voice as he enters the mess tent as he plops down in front of him on a bench. He tries to grab the letter as it gets waved in his face. He can tell it's from the pen pal organisation due to its logo printed on it.

“Maybe you're secret admire has another titillating letter about the wows of missing your cock”

He glares at his friend and huffs as he continues eating his breakfast and answers him with his mouth full on purpose.

“I told you, it was probably some teenager thinking he was funny by swapping out his grandmother's letter. So go on open it, I don't care”

He pretends to be blaze and nonchalant about the whole ordeal. But he is nervous and can feel anxiety creeping up his spine as he watches Elliott opening the letter. He pulls out a photo and lets out a low whistle.

“I don't know Sammy, but this doesn't look like some edgy teen! Unless he's pretending to be some kind of officer!”

He lunges across the table and manages to grab the photo and envelope. He lets out a triumphant cheer as he sits back down and looks at the photo. It looks to be a candid picture taken of a young guy dressed in all black, his hair slicked back and a badge hanging around his neck. He swallows at the sight of the mole dotted skin before quickly pushing the photo back into the envelope and pulling out the letter.

Sam Asshole,

You're really having a go at me for my name when your full name is probably Samuel or some shitty spelt variation. Yeah, Roy is an absolute sadistic asshole for legally naming me that instead of passing on the family name, but at least it ain't some boring generic name. Bet everyone and their Meemaw calls you Sammy or Sammy boy.

See you could have me bent over and plowing into me and I could be moaning out your name while thinking about some other Sam, but you moaning my name I know it's me you're thinking of. Unless you're into beastialtie or some shit. But judging by your photo you don't give off that vibe. You do look like you like pulling hair, and I have plenty of that.

It wasn't a joke or bet, in fact the letter should have never been sent. It was some bullshit PR stunt for Roy's re-election campaign; he dodged the draft like some schmuck. Make the locals think he gives two flying fucks about you jarheads and vets. So what better way than to be seen writing and sending care packages to the troops overseas with his dutiful son. So I wrote about how I wanted to get railed under his roof by a jarhead. Have that homophobic fuck wondering if Sam is short for Samantha or not.

Gator T.

He leans back after reading it and swears. He rubs his face as Erik sits down next to him and lets him pick the letter out of his grip.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy”

“I don't think I've ever had anyone call my name bland before, or felt so insulted by someone saying its generic”

He hides his face in his hands. Erik pats him on the back as he hums and passes the letter to Eliot.

“He's got some daddy issues a mile long. I wonder who he thinks you are in the photo Ray smuggled into your letter. Because I'm sorry Elliot but with that bush on your lip you look like you'd fuck a sheep”

He makes a bleating sound as he snickers and dodges getting smacked.

“Jarheads! We are seals! Show cap the picture he sent you. He's some kind of officer, has a badge around his neck”

Sam begrudgingly shows Erik the photo.

“Which photo did he give him? Because if it has Elliot in it it can't be any good! You look like some 70s raunchy porno star! And I'd rather him not thinking I look like that!”

“That's a sheriff's badge, must be a deputy. Jesus he looks repressed as fuck. No one wants to look like Elliot.”

He and Erik laughed as Elliot glared at them, good naturedly. He takes both the photo and letter back and puts them away.

[greenhorn-art]

World Champions | Artwork for World Champions by TheDefenestrator by TheDefenestrator, art by Blurb_brain

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 71 944

At the end of season 4 of the Glory Pro Alliance, the government finally receives the information it has been waiting for: The other players have caught up. Or, In which Glory has been a government recruitment ploy for remote-piloted mecha operators all along.

About the Book

FONTS: Mundo Serif, Azonix [dafont], Segoe UI Symbol

IMAGES: Illustration by Blurb_brain [AO3]; cover image by NASA ID: 440611 [Rawpixel]; Planet Earth background ID: 6331593 [Rawpixel]; Circuit lines background ID: 3117935 [Rawpixel]; endpapers' image by Eric Eastman [Unsplash]; Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer [The King's Avatar Wikia]

MATERIALS: regular printer paper (8.5"x11", 96 bright, 20lb), 80pt bookboard, Iris Bookcloth (colour: Black Pearl), Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", bright white, 65lb), waxed linen thread (white, 30/3 size), embroidery floss (shades 3750, 350, 3845, 370), leather cording (1.9mm diameter), Reeves’ acrylic paint (Mars Black, Phthalo Blue, Titanum White), Americana acrylic paint (glow in the dark), ph neutral pva glue (Books by Hand)

PROGRAMS USED: Typeset in Affinity Publisher, cover/title page/endpapers designed in Affinity Designer/Photo, QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, PDF arranged for printing with Bookbinder-JS

BINDING STYLE: quarto, case bound (slightly rounded, with oxford hollow, forgot to use tapes)

.

Fenes' "Glory's tech isn't handwaved" AU. This was great! Funny and creative, and I'm both amazed and full of admiration for Fenes' ability to juggle so many characters.

I was feeling excited and ambitious with this one. Tried some new fun things (double core endbands, painted edges) and used some new equipment (a lying press).

The Text

TITLE/HEADINGS FONT: Azonix says 'SciFi' to me, it's a bold, non-serif, sleek font.

BODY FONT: Mundo Serif, it's a decent serif body font I haven't used before. Felt like it worked with Azonix.

SCENE BREAKS: a special character in Segoe UI Symbol of a black & white icon of Earth, the globe showing Asia.

TYPESETTING: Finished typesetting the fic, left document open on my laptop, laptop's battery failed, file now crashes immediately upon reopening, issue persists with copied versions of file (；￣Д￣) . Thankfully I had a backup file for the typeset with the barebones of the text, so I didn't have to restart from scratch...

Title Page

My thinking: it takes place in space, the world's at stake, and it's the dawn of a new horizon for Earth. Glory and the titular champions are represented by Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer – the captains of what I'd call the 'big 5' teams. A circuitry board background element hints at the tech/mecha nature of the story's competition. It may not match Blurb's art, but I hope I was able to convey some of what the story is about.

The circuitry image is used as decoration throughout the book. I only used the avatars of the top five teams' captains because too many silhouettes would lessen their impact and readability. (Removing the backgrounds was tedious, but worth it.)

Here's what it should have looked like. The test prints for this and the BB art were fine, but I think my inkjet started running out of ink just when I printed the final copies and I didn't reprint them. (Too impatient, really wanted to finish up and read the book)

The Cover

World Champions is another Big Bang fic, and once again I based some of my design choices off of the accompanying artwork. The dominant colours of Blurb_brain's illustration are red and blue-green.

COVER PAPER: For the decorative cover material I used NASA's ASTER image of Poyang Lake. NASA has some really interesting photography some of which remind me of marbled paper, thought it could be interesting. I chose this image of Poyang Lake because 1) it's in China, 2) the colours were similar to Blurb's awesome illustration (fate strikes again, dropping matching images and artwork into my lap!), and 3) NASA is tangentially relevant to the fic, which takes place in space.

BOOKCLOTH: Verona bookcloth in the shade Black Pearl, a lovely dark navy blue colour. Thought it suited the cover paper and title page. (Bought it for this fic specifically, but the colour goes well with almost all of my decorative papers so it should see a lot of use in the future!)

Endpapers

The final decision that held this project at a standstill for two months. In the end I drew inspiration from the matchups against the final opponent in the story. The image I used is a little chaotic and a little too unrelated to identify why I picked it without an explanation, but this book is for me and I know why, so there. (Note that I played around with the colours and cropped the photo.)

Endpaper inspiration: the maps for the matches against the Infilhites

"a long bridge through an enormous tube-like hall, where light seem to come from every side through stained glass windows. It was visually confusing, limited lateral motion" "a warehouse, crates stacked on and beside metal racks that went all the way to the ceiling." "a house of mirrors, fully enclosed to be sure the Infhillte couldn’t fly out of it." "like a volcano, rivers of lava moving sluggishly down a slope, occasional vents of overheated air nearby." "a series of overlapping bridges between halls and stairways, level after level layered over an open abyss."

Trimming & Painting the Edges

Going all out, a 2-for1 deal: the opportunity to use my lying press for the first time and learn a new technique!

TRIMMING: Used a paring chisel and lying press.

CHISEL: The 1.25" wide paring chisel I used was form a modern manufacturer. (Vintage paring chisels are very thin, enough so that you can bend/flex the blade. But don't do that.) It's long and wide blade made it easier to register against the surface of the press for consistent cuts. Looks like this one below from Lee Valley.

LYING PRESS: My dad's project. Solid black walnut, hand carved screws and internal threads — he even made the tools to make the threads too! The jaws of the press are each 3 7/8" wide. It's big and heavy (though much smaller than full-sized professional ones omg), but there's enough of a flat surface to register the chisel against. A thicc boi, much like this one below from Bookbinding Supplies.

PAINTED EDGES: The idea was to have dark navy edges, speckled with white stars. I used acrylic from a tube to paint the edges — tutorials recommended it over liquid bottled acrylic, and I had an old set hanging around. Had to water it down because otherwise the paint just flaked off.

My test of trimming and painting went well. Then the trimmed book itself came out slightly crooked, the paint required significantly more watering-down than before, and the white paint did not want to be both opaque and speckle-able. Unfortunate, but still book-shaped! And now I have an idea of what to do differently next time.

Also, did not like the glow-in-the-dark paint. Looked too translucent in the light when compared to the white acrylic, and needed a thicker coat to be visible in the dark. (The thickness combined with the translucence and base colour kinda reminded me of boogers... Ended up scrapping most of it off, so there's not much left to glow.)

Endbands

Still in the mood to have fun and go all-out, I attempted double-core endbands for the first time.

TUTORIAL: YouTube @ BookbindersChronicle: Bookbinding 101 Sewing Headbands Session 2. Also watched @ DAS Bookbinding's Double-Core Endband // Adventures in Bookbinding, but I personally found Chronicle's closeup video easier to follow.

I used embroidery floss from a 100pk of assorted colours off Amazon, wrapped around a core of 1.9mm leather cording from Michaels. I drew from Blurb_brain's art for the general colours, choosing a dark base, with red, blue-green, and gold. The specific shades were picked to go with the cover.

[sungbeam]

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝

nonidol!eric sohn x f!reader

1.7k words, YO! SUGGESTIVE, college au, kissing, swearing, mentions of drinking, the bra comes off but nothing explicit (uh minors... DNI), his shirt comes off, barely proofread bc i wrote this on impulse and tis late for me

a/n: i let my impulsive and intrusive thoughts win.

Hands—his hands were everywhere. Anywhere he could fit his palms, his fingers against and into—every curve and crevice would not be leaving untouched. He burned his prints into your skin, signed his name with his lips, tongue, voice.

"This okay?" He murmured against the column of your throat. He could probably feel the way your pulse raced at his touch as you arched yourself into him.

Your breath hitched, his lips pressing feather-light kisses, his fingertips dancing along the bottom hem of your shirt. "More—more than okay," you exhaled, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He gave a groan of approval from the hollow of your throat, then swiftly moved back up to capture your lips for himself and steal your breath away.

(before.)

"Yn." At the feeling of a nudge to your side, you turned to your friend Jisung whose face was fitted with the widest, shit-eating grin. "You know that guy's been checking you out all night, right?"

He inclined his head toward your 4 o'clock, and you curiously followed his gaze to see what he was talking about.

You caught sight of him across the room—red ball cap, white dress shirt with nearly half the buttons undone, exposing the smooth skin beneath and the chain hanging from his collar. He nodded at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he smiled.

Your heart went and did a row of cartwheels.

You and Jisung had come with a group of friends to this one party tonight. There were no expectations, really, only that you had all Rock-Paper-Scissored and Felix was forced to DD. Jisung and you had lost the others pretty fast, but you hadn't minded the bit of one on one time you got with him. (You liked to claim you didn't have favorites, but Han Jisung was a little difficult to not love.)

"You know him?" Jisung asked you after draining whatever was left in his plastic cup. He gave a grimace at the burn down the back of his throat.

"Uhm yeah, actually." You smiled, lifting a brow. "Eric Sohn. Plays shortstop for the uni baseball team." Yeah, you knew him, alright. You never missed a baseball game, even since high school, and that tradition had yet to stop in college. Sometimes, you would even go with your other friend Seungmin, if he had time. It was something that reminded you a lot of life in your hometown, where all your closest friends would hit the neighborhood field to play a round or two. Of course, constantly being in the stands meant that someone was bound to notice your presence.

Maybe he'd finally figured out you weren't there for anyone in particular.

A crease formed between Jisung's brows. "What the fuck's a shortstop?—You know what? I don't need to know," he said with a shake of his head. He turned his body toward you, extending his hand, "Dude's coming this way, so I won't step on your toes."

You passed Jisung an incredulous look, but clasped his hand with yours. "Just say you don't wanna cockblock me, Ji."

He laughed. "Hey, you said it this time, not me! Use protection, my friend," he teased, patting you on the shoulder before taking his leave and melding with the crowd.

You rolled his eyes, but your heart still thundered in your chest. Jisung said Eric was on his way over to you, and you were a little nervous to turn around and look—

"I've kind of been wondering about something."

Here he is. You whirled around and came face to face with the man in question. From up close, his jawline was even sharper than it looked from all the way up in the bleachers, his hands veiny all the way down his forearms. And his shirt seemed to be hanging on just enough to leave something for the imagination, but you were sure your imagination would be pretty on the nose anyway. His smile was even prettier this close and there was something boyish about its edge that threw you for a loop. He braced an arm against the wall next to you, and you saw the glint of his silver watch and the rings adorning his fingers.

"And what would you be wondering?" You prompted with a small tilt of your head.

"What's a girl as pretty as you doing alone all the time?" He asked. "I've been racking my brain for an explanation, and none of my teammates say they know you."

"Maybe I'm just looking for a good time," you replied airily, leaning toward him slightly. Then it came to you, the replays of him on the field, the way he so effortlessly caught your attention like he turned double plays. "And someone who knows what he's doing, I suppose."

His smile widened a sliver, following your lead. "And what can I do to prove to you that I do?"

You could smell the expensive, but subtle cologne lingering on his skin and clothes over the smell of the party around you. Your eyes darted down to his lips and you saw him do the same to you. "Come a little closer and find out."

(now.)

He was addicted to the taste of you—couldn't stop and didn't plan to stop until he traced every inch of you with his mouth. Eric had lost his cap at some point between meeting you and getting you alone in this room. It was dark, it was hot—you were hot. Your skin was on fire, there was sweat dripping down the back of your neck. Your hands were in his hair, but he wanted them on his body, in his pants, and still in his hair.

You gave a tug as he pressed his tongue into your mouth, a pretty whine coaxed from you. God, you were so pretty. So pretty and perfect and—he couldn't believe you were single.

His nose slotted against yours, his knee sliding between your thighs and keeping your knees from buckling. He kept you up by his own strength and the wall behind you.

You broke for air and he dove for your neck. "Eric," you managed to say between breaths, the top of his head tickling the bottom of your chin.

He hummed, hands squeezing your sides. "I'm gonna stick my hands under your shirt," he rasped when he pulled back to look you in the eyes, a silent question of permission.

"Be my guest."

"You're cute," he chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.

You smiled. "I can say the same about you." You reached for his face with both of your hands, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin as his hands inched up under your shirt. "Now let me eat you up, Eric Sohn."

You could taste his laugh on your tongue. "Mmh—fuck, I like the—the sound of that."

And you were all too soon consumed and suffocating on him again, choking on the feel of muscle beneath your hands that moved to grip his shoulders; ascending, as he pressed himself against you, until no air existed between your bodies. Your mind was blank, all that laid upon your tongue was his and his name.

Eric, Eric, Eric…

"Can I take your shirt off?" You asked between kisses, catching his bottom lip between your teeth for a spell.

His forehead rested against yours, noses slotted beside each other. He braced an arm against the wall by your head while the other wrapped around your waist. "Oh my god, please."

Lazily, he kissed you again, and he somehow made your toes curl even more.

He would turn his eyes downward to watch your fingers slide each button out of its slit, the curtains of his white shirt slowly falling open. And he would find your lips again, one kiss rewarded for each buttoned freed.

Eric shrugged the garment off and it fluttered to the floor. With your eyes adjusted to the dark and the minimal light streaming in from beneath the door, you could trace the hard lines of his arms and stomach. Line by line.

"You're beautiful," you blurted out suddenly. Inwardly, you winced; dear god, you hoped you didn't just kill the mood.

Instead, though, he giggled. No one had ever called him beautiful before, at least, not to his face. Eric cupped the back of his neck with boyish glee, then moved to hold your cheek. "I'm gonna kiss you for that."

That was so fine by you.

He made good on his word and dove for your mouth, expertly catching the back of your head with his hand for cushion against the wall. And if you hadn't had the wall for support, you were certain the force of his kiss would have you bending over backwards.

Your fingers dug into his arms for good measure. Heat pooled in your belly, a fire that kept you fueled and was fanned by Eric-motherfucking-Sohn.

He groaned into your mouth, an awfully delicious sound. "Bra clasp? Wanna feel you, baby."

As everything seemed to be, permission was granted immediately.

His fingers flew up your shirt again and cupped you through your bra. You felt him wrap around your body, nimbly flicking at the clasp—

There was a hurried and loud knock on the door, and you both jolted in surprise.

"Occupied!" Eric barked, hands stilling over the place where your strapless bra had been two seconds ago.

"Eric? It's Kevin! It's an emergency." Someone's voice—Kevin's—echoed through the locked door. He didn't even bother to jiggle the handle.

You saw a muscle feather in his jaw, and he carded a hand through his damp, dark hair. Conflict flickered in his eyes, from you, to the door. "One minute, hyung."

You heard footsteps retreat from outside.

Eric leaned down and scooped up your bra and his shirt from the floor, handing you your garment with a sigh. "Sorry for cutting this short," he murmured, cupping the back of your head affectionately.

Your smile was easy, and you swiftly reset your clothes and hair. "Don't worry about it. It sounds important."

"If it's Kevin, then it probably is," he agreed. He'd finished buttoning up his shirt halfway.

When you reached for the doorknob, Eric spun you back around towards him and swooped in for a kiss that made your head spin around. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, a last taste for now. "I'm not done with you yet, though, Yn."

You bit back your grin. "I was betting on that, Sohn."

read the sequel here!

tbz m.list

[puckpocketed]

excerpts from Pierre Luc Dubois — A Story From Home by Jude MacDonald (archived)

The #1 ranked North American skater in this year’s NHL Entry Draft has devoted himself to having a positive impact on the youth in Cape Breton and become an ambassador for the Screaming Eagles organization. Dubois didn’t know much about Cape Breton when he arrived, but he wanted that to change. Every time there was a team event in the community Dubois would text team officials “Am I going to the event, if not, can I come?” It’s been passed on to me that the Eagles may have never seen a kid, let alone a top 10 NHL prospect, so committed to giving back.

I was told of a story where 6’3”, 200+ pound forward returned from the Ivan Hlinka to attend training camp and was given some time to himself, to relax. The day after winning gold at the Ivan Hlinka, the Eagles received a message from PLD saying, “When I return do you think we can go to the Boys and Girls Club for a visit when I get back to Cape Breton? Because I promised them that I would return this year and visit them before school starts”.

Another story I’ve heard that sticks out about what type of constitution Dubois has, after one game PL was a last minute scratch due to injury, PL again texted the Eagles and asked “Hey, let me know if you want me to do anything with the fans during the game, as I am not in the lineup tonight?” They printed off a bunch of promotional material and advertised that during the 2nd intermission PLD will be signing autographs in the main concourse. Dubois messaged during the 2nd period and said, “Hey I can come down now and start early?” With 8 minutes left in the 2nd period he was taken down and he started signing. With time running down Dubois turned and said, “I think you should go get some more material for me to sign, because I am not leaving until everyone in line gets an autograph.”

This was no rare occurrence, this is who he is. Win or lose, Dubois is always there to sign autographs in the fan tunnel. When the Eagles practice 2:00pm to 4:30pm, a minor hockey team often has a practice following, and Dubois will sometimes ask their coach if he can jump on and work with the kids. Whether it was the annual Breast Cancer Walk For Cure, or an event in support of Special Olympics Cape Breton, or the “RESPECT PLEDGE CAMPAIGN (Anti-Bullying) where PLD visited five different schools where he spoke to students about making healthy decisions and how doing so has helped him reach his potential as being a player in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League, he is always giving back.

“I think the big thing is my dad was a coach in the Q League, so I was around it. But what I remember almost more than anything else is how I looked up to those players in the room. To be in that atmosphere and what it meant to me, I told myself if I ever get the chance to be one of those guys some kid was looking up to I was going to try and help them and be a role model. I’m in Sydney and I want to make an impact in the areas I can and be a part of the community.”

[...]

This leads us to Pierre Luc Dubois – The Hockey Player. The large framed, slick moving, power forward with finesse, who without question has been sculpted with the help of his father, Rimouski assistant coach and former Nordiques draft pick, Eric. The son told me he credits his parents for always reminding him to be a good person first, hockey comes second. But for the younger Dubois, the two go hand in hand.

“I try and do the right things off the ice, live the right way, treat people with respect. I take the same approach on the ice, if it’s a game or a practice, just to always give my all. I want to bring the same honest effort to making a difference in the city of Sydney as I do every day at the rink. It’s how I was raised by my Mom and Dad. I want to make them proud and represent my team, teammates, and be the best person and player I can be.”

As tremendous as Dubois is off the ice, he can match it on the ice. Make no mistake, Dubois is an elite talent. What makes him all the more special – he is as cerebral as he is gifted. It does not take long when speaking with Dubois to realize how much he’s taken in being a coach’s son. The knowledge and maturity for a young man his age is staggering. It shows when he talks about his play without the puck.

“I do take pride in playing in the defensive side of the game. Really, I want to be able to make solid plays in all three zones, whether scoring a big goal or breaking up a play on the back check. That’s something my coach and I talked a lot about during the playoffs. Games are going to be tight, 3-2, it’s going to be one play and it’s not always going to be a goal, and hopefully sometimes it is too. In the playoffs we talked about D-zone draws, and I took a lot of them, just those things that you want to be called on for. I want to be as complete a player as I can be.”

[...]

Since I had the luxury of calling the 902 area code for help on this, I knew there was one last call I needed to make. First, I phoned my Dad to ask him for John’s number. John is a family friend and a respected hockey name in and around my household as long as I can remember. John played minor hockey with my Uncle, plays pick up with “Big Jude” and was a pro player in his day. Here’s what John had to say in regards to Pierre Luc.

“Nothing has been given to Pierre Luc. Everything that he has achieved he has earned through hard work.”

I suppose I should mention that John I’m referring to is John Kibyuk, Assistant Coach of the Cape Breton Screaming Eagles.

“Extra time training, extra time at the end of practice, he’s worked at his game. He wants to be a complete player. I’ll tell you this, here is the difference between an amauteur and a professional. An amateur works at the things he is good at and a professional works at the things he isn’t. That’s Pierre Luc. He fights through the frustration of improving on his inadequacies and it’s made him better, made him who he is. It’s a always a two way conversation with him. ‘What do you want work on today?’ ‘Well what do you think I should work on’. Everyone in Cape Breton will be on the edge of their seat Friday night to see where Pierre Luc goes and he deserves every enjoyment that comes along with it. It’s been a pleasure watching him develop into the player he’s become.”

Pierre Luc Dubois has brought excitement and relevance to a passionate fan base in a working man’s hockey area that so desperately deserves it. The time will come when he moves on to the National Hockey League, this we are fairly certain of. What will never leave is the legacy he is leaving behind. His number will likely one day hang from the rafters at Centre 200 for his performance on the ice. More importantly, is the difference he’s making in the everyday lives of the youth and in the place I grew up, where my parents still reside, and my sisters children will be raised.

So on Draft Day I say thanks and wish Pierre Luc the best of luck, even if he ends up with a rival. The Eagles fan in me will make up for it. The goals for them, the wins, taking the franchise as far as they’ve been in the post-season, it’s all fantastic. But it’s everything else that never goes away. His efforts to make a difference will be remembered in my little hockey town. What Dubois has done won’t fade when the buzzer sounds. I was once one of those Cape Breton kids looking up with adoration, just like Pierre Luc was in his Dad’s dressing room. I never forgot those exchanges Van Allen graced me with, and neither will the young boys and girls Dubois has made smile. He’s been a role model in a community that needs them. When you see those you look up to succeed and set an example, it shapes you forever, long after the zamboni is off the ice and the lights in the arena are low.

We are an island, a rock in a stream. We are a people as proud as there’s been…and Pierre Luc…Cape Breton sure is proud of you, son.

[thelioncourts]

You may have answered this elsewhere, but what are some of your favorite Jam moments, either in videos or in print? :)

oh, god, there are so many. I'm going to forget all of them, but !

s1 interviews where they talked about texting each other pictures and sam had his photos on live and jacob thought it made him incredibly interesting and they would update each other as they got new fangs in the mail.

their zoom auditions that landed them the roles, the deciding factor really wasn't how they acted as lestat and louis, but how they interacted as themselves with one another.

their date to the vampire boutique to buy vampire things and they bought candles they were supposed to light together but sam, ever the forgetful husband, lit his way before jacob and jacob was Disappointed.

speaking of ever forgetful husband, the reddit q&a where jacob was like 'oh sam is trying to get into the writers room' like the husband that knows everything or when asked about their first scene and sam said one thing, then jacob corrected it, and sam commented back like 'oh yeah jacob is right.'

jacob's teeny tiny teasy pics of sam from sdcc 2022 before any of us knew just how much they were going to ruin us.

"most fulfilling partnership...cREATIVE partnership"

when they got out to the main sdcc 2022 panel and sam was so nervous and jacob gentle started rubbing his back and they looked at each other and sam put a hand on jacob's thigh and AHHH

sticker shop date

l.a. date where they went to universal

walks along the beach in san diego

meeting in the rehearsal room all masked up and whatnot

eric's "the only difference between these two and their characters is that I've never seen these two fight"

jacob saying that sam's hair is really cool when it's put up

sam on ep2 of the iwtv podcast saying that when he met jacob he knew it would be really easy to fall in love with him...

jacob's one interview where he said that the coffin was comfortable when there were two people in it and associating sam's bday with valentine's day

jacob crying as hard as he did during the s1 finale because not only was it the acting, but it was also the acknowledgement that he would be losing this with sam in some way

prague dinner dates every single night........

taking delainey paddleboating in prague

the entire s2 finale reunion and how the mics were cut so they could have that moment, how they didn't really discuss it, how they just know each other as they do and it was them, and it was real

the tv insider jenga game where jacob was like 'what's my favorite snack?' and asking sam and then going 'why am I asking you?' but sam still answered anyway

when they walked up to each other at the s2 premiere for the first time (don't talk to me about it)

the entire s2 premiere, I am not allowed to Speak

the 92ny screening and every teasing little interaction they had on that stage, GOD

the interview where they talked about their dinner in prague and sam chose it as his last meal if he could choose one, even though he didn't like the food that much, but --

how sam said that filming s1ep5 it was so hard to see jacob as he was but jacob tried to alleviate his problems with it and so they have fun videos of jacob spinning and also sam took home his prosthetic eye

the locket bailey made with both sam and jacob's pictures in it and she showed sam and he was like 'oH MY GOD CUTE'

seine river walk, my beloved

clubbing in paris that I'm legally not allowed to talk about

swapping contacts, like who does that, why

sam saying that there's no one he would rather be nude and bleeding with

the paleyfest 2022 interview where bailey was talking about how sweet they are and jacob made the CUTEST face and then was like 'sam. are we best friends?' in the most giggly way and sam was just. so fond, so 'yeah, we're best friends'

in jacob's interview with autumn where she was like 'I tried to get sam to sing when...' and jacob just. fully knowing 'he's not going to do that' in the most deadpan way

the s2 premiere cute interview clips where jacob just goes and lays down and stares at sam (?????)

jacob talking about (during s2) how grateful he was to film with sam and how it felt like home and it was comfortable

the video with delainey where they go through several of the episodes and analyze scenes and they spent way too long giggling about bdsm and just reminiscing

the way any and everyone talks about them, it's so not normal (compliment)

I'm sure there are hundreds more, I'll add to it as I think of things

[anon-sect]

Eric has ten employees he supervised in his department at work. He had a level of respect for each of them. The only thing he required was the same level of respect back. But there was one employee who was a major thorn in his side. He did enough to keep himself employed, but every time he had to be corrected, he showed a lack of respect to his position. He really wanted to fix this issue to make life at work much easier.

Eric had heard of a guy named Genie who was solving financial issues but helped in other ways. He had to see if he could help solve his disrespectful employee problem. He called and set up a meeting on the next day.

Eric met Genie at his office. "How can I help you, since you aren't interested in money? Most of my clients are usually here for those partucular reasons." He asked Eric.

Money wasn't an issue currently, but an employee was. "I have this one employee that is really annoying, but I have no grounds on which to fire him. And he won't quit. I just want him dealt with where he is no longer an issue or concern for me." Eric explained his slightly strange request, wondering how a guy named Genie can solve it.

Genie snapped his fingers and a magical contract instantly appeared before him. He looked it over before turning it around for Eric to sign it.

Eric was amazed how an old looking form of paper instantly appeared out of nowhere. "Are you some kind of magician?" He asked as Genie turned the paper for him to read. "Let's just say my magic is far more ancient than some magician. Just sign and initial the highlighted areas. Also, on the bottom in the fine print, I need you to write in a name, it has to be a close friend or a close acquaintance you know well." Genie responded to his question.

Eric read and signed at the same time. He understood what was on the old parchment looking paper. The wish would be permanent with no reversal. But what confused him was that he had to provide a name at the bottom. And it had to be a close friend or acquaintance. "Why do I need to write a name down here if I have already signed?" He asked him curiously.

"You see, I don't grant wishes for free. I require something in exchange. The name you provide will belong to me as my possession. Otherwise, I won't grant it." Genie spoke his response, waiting on Eric to finish signing it.

Eric thought of who he should write in. He didn't want to put in the name of someone close to him he cared about. That would be cruel. He then had the perfect name. It was someone he knew by acquaintance really good, but was also annoying. He honestly wouldn't care what Genie did with him. He wrote in Jake on the line and handed the paper back over to Genie.

Genie looked it over one more time and saw everything was in order. He snapped his fingers, and the parchment vanished just as suddenly as it appeared. "Your wish will be granted in the morning. Just remember, it's permanent. It will not be reversed. I think that concludes our business." Genie motioned him toward his office door.

Eric left wondering how his annoying employee situation would be dealt with. He was told it would be handled by the morning. He couldn't wait to see what would happen.

The next morning, Eric took his shower as normal, but when he came out, he saw a pair of white AND1 socks with a small note beside it. He read the note: here is Malcolm. He is now your pair of socks, enjoy them as you please. Sign, Genie. P.S. there is no reversal if you should happen to feel any remorse.

Malcolm was just having breakfast when suddenly he found himself laid out in a strange place. His body was split in half, and he couldn't move at all. Nor could he physically speak or utter any sound. It was like being trapped in your own mind with no escape. He hated this feeling. He then heard a familiar voice approach. "Wow, he really did solve my Malcolm issue. He made him into my personal pair of socks. I literally get to wear him." He heard as the familiar voice laughed afterward. He knew exactly whose voice it was. It was his supervisor, Eric. Did he hear right? Was he turned into a pair of socks? He quickly realized it was his current reality when he felt Eric picked him up and slid his foot into his sock body. Even though Eric's foot was clean with no odor, it still sickened him at the thought that he was now wrapped around his supervisor's foot. He then experienced it a second time as the other sock was put on. He felt Eric wiggling his toes in him. He screamed so many curses at him and realized Eric didn't hear a single one. He was a powerless pair of socks, and Eric was his owner.

Eric loved the way Malcolm felt on his feet. He would make him his favorite pair of socks. The thought that Malcolm would be at work but providing support for his feet made him smile. The annoying employee became useful to him. The best part was that his socks couldn't speak. No more disrespectful tone coming from him, nothing but bliss silence from the only employee he had that got on his nerves. He then thought about the one whom he gave up to get his wish granted. He wondered what Genie would do with him, even though he honestly didn't have any concern for his well-being.

Jake felt strange. The last thing he remembered was being in his bed. Now he felt like he was somewhere else. He was in a dark place and wrapped around something that felt familiar. He tried to speak but found he no longer had the ability. He tried to move, but his motion was minimal at best. All the most he could accomplish was squirming motion.

Genie felt his underwear moving. He laughed at the futile attempt to escape his current fate. The wish was granted, which meant Jake was permanently his. The good thing was the guy that gave him Jake didn't even care what happened to him. But he would let Jake know of his fate. Suddenly, he had the urge to fart. He let out a long five second fart. He laughed as he finished because he remembered making the guy's face be in the ass part of the underwear. He literally just farted in his face. He really felt the underwear squirm like crazy. He laughed even more.

Jake tried to get away from the smell as an almost toxic gaseous smell bombarded his face. It was so ranchid that he would have gagged or vomited if he had an actual mouth. He realized his reality. He was underwear, and his face was at the rear end of the underwear. He was looking directly at another guy's ass and there was no escape from it. He himself was a straight guy, loves the ladies. But to literally end up on a guy's ass was the worst thought he could ever imagine, let alone it be his reality.

Genie unzipped his pants to speak with his underwear for the first and last time. "Your friend or associate Eric offered you to me in exchange for his wish being granted. So I decided you would be my underwear. The last guy given to me was turned into my favorite pair of socks. I have to tell you, you do make an excellent pair of underwear. And you absorb my fart gas well. I don't smell any of it." Genie paused and laughed at Jake as he farted again, this time it was almost eight seconds long. "This is permanent for you." He finished as he zipped his pants back up. He went and sat down to watch television. He rubbed his butt in his underwear for a bit, enjoying the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing as the underwear squirmed like crazy.

Jake knew of Eric, but for him to trade him off like that was cruel and unforgivable. That last fart was worse than the first one. Then the guy sits down and rubs his ass in his face. He would never wish this fate on any straight guy. A gay guy might be loving this, but he was hating every last moment.

At the end of the day, Eric arrived home from work. His socks had a little sweat in them. He sniffed his shoes and found his strong foot odor in them. He shook his head. He was glad he wasn't trapped in that smell all day. The thought that Malcolm was trapped in that all day amused him. That must have been torture, he thought to himself. But Malcolm's day wasn't over yet. There was one more thing he wanted his former employee to experience.

Malcolm was literally praying for death. The weight of Eric constantly bearing down on him was torture enough. It was just made worse by being trapped and surrounded by an intense foot odor that made him wish he could commit suicide. Add in tasting Eric's feet the entire day. All of this combined was a pit of hell that he would not even wish on someone he hated. Eric only spoke to him that morning. All the rest of the day, he was completely ignored. He was just treated as normal socks. He mentally tried to reach out to his friends at work when he heard their voices, but all attempts were futile. Even if Eric had let them see his socks, no one would come to his rescue. All they would see is normal socks. Only Eric knew the truth, and he wasn't telling anyone about what happened to him.

Eric put on a porn video on the TV. He removed one sock and placed it over his dick. As the video action intensified, so did his dick. Next he was shoot hot cum straight into his sock. "How does that taste, Malcolm?" He laughed as he cleaned off his dick. There was still some cum left on his cock, so he took the other sock to wipe it off. "You also make an excellent cum rag." He added. "Just to let you know, this is permanent. You will never be human again. You only exist to support my feet and be my cum rag forever. I can't reverse what's been done to you, and neither do I want to." He laughed as he placed the socks on the couch. He would wash them later so that he could wear Malcolm again tomorrow. He would wear him to work every day just to torture him, knowing he would never see his old life ever again. And no one to come change his fate. This was the best way to handle my annoying employee issue, he thought. He would have to thank Genie later on. As for Jake, he didn't care what Genie did with him. They weren't close friends anyway.

Malcolm mentally cried as he tasted hot cum that would soon dry up in his sock body. His humanity was reduced to servitude to his former boss's feet and for sexual pleasure. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

[kentuckycaverats]

oc deep dive: delsidhe tsuga

formerly delphine tsuga fujinami

maeghar, thinblood, sired by toreador antitribu

portrait by @hairbrushed

what common/uncommon fear do they have?

her greatest fear (one of the only things she fears, really) is loss of autonomy. as a mortal her abusive bio parents raised her as a sacrificial lamb for baali methuselah petaniqua; upon escaping them she was involuntarily ghouled by a domitor who heavily abused her via auspex and presence; she took her life in an attempt to be free of her domitor, who embraced del to maintain her control; resulting in the expulsion of del's fae mien, who was then imprisoned/tortured/exposed to constant banality at the hands of the sabbat for the better part of a decade; and nearly every encounter with petaniqua throughout the chronicle involved del being on the receiving end of dominate or dementation. her "submit to no one" conviction is the one she most often takes stains against, whoops.

do they have any pet peeves?

cowards and politicians. if you're gonna do something fucked up, at least have the balls to own it and get your hands dirty yourself.

what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

a cauldron-shaped ceramic mug that she made for her (tremere) wife, tara. it's used like a vase to display lavender and lilacs.

a tie-dye print hydro dipped sniper rifle, gifted by coterie lasombra benedetta.

an ungodly number of lava lamps.

(visual refs for the vibe of her haven)

what do they notice first in a person?

as a matter of survival: how banal they are. all kindred are banal and all mortals have some degree of banality, but her fae nature makes her particularly sensitive to it. most ventrue, tremere, and lasombra are unbearable to be around but most ravnos, malkavians, and toreador are mild enough.

on a scale of 1-10 how high is their pain tolerance?

somewhere around 7-9. she inherited the toreador antitribu beast and therefore fixation on pain from her sire; and between all the torture she's endured + the chronic pain caused by the dissonance between her changeling and kindred natures, her tolerance is pretty high.

do they go into fight or flight mode (or freeze or fawn) when under pressure?

fight <3 girl who loves craves delights and revels in scenes of carnage.

what animal represents them best?

tasmanian devil! small, ferocious, territorial, fearless.

how would a stranger likely describe them?

insane, unpredictable, bold, self-assured

do they have any hobbies?

pottery, dancing, occult research, breaking and entering or carjacking with ravnos bestie mitra, arson, interior design, tending night-blooming plants, wooing/relentlessly hitting on tara.

tagging @lgbtmi @eric-the-bmo @harbingerofskulls @chiss-ticism !

[idkdema]

(Just u wait shehbwheheheheheheh)

*The medic.hands out tea to both the high administrator and me*

Cyber!Eva: Bleh...

High administrator: it seems like Ur not used to tea. But dont worry its all like that at first now were are we...

*The medic hands out info for the high administrator*

Merge!Valda: Bring Medics at the Eastwing...Some carbon dioxide were leaked at the cages *He notices me* tch... *He then walks away to lead the medics at the location on the cages

High administrator: Anyways, Let me explain...we are a Stellar company, V-x research company. A galactic known company for its amazing contributions by a series of species called voids. Like, discoveries, experimantations and etc. And so it appears that this ship, is a newly made motherboard gifted By the Ruler of Planet Xylus itself. We were tasked with something heavy. To investigate a something certain, it was not a planet but a wormhole...We didny know why would be specifically our team, when we couldve have sent a team dedicated for wormhole exploration and are fully trained...

Cyber!Eva: ok?... But i dont see anything that can contribute to...whatever this is...

High administrator: uhuh

*meanwhile The medics were at a right timing, valda opened the cage with the use of his fimger print, of the two multiverse Eric and Nora. While the medics treated them. The other half prepared food for the rest of the people in the cages to eat*

Merge!Valda: Eat up ur gonna need it...

(Wait who’s exactly in the medical room- I’m getting kinda confused :)…)

*all the Demas seemed excited for the food u u*

[philosophicalconservatism]

Observation.

The fact that the ideas of the far Left do not work from a practical standpoint is yet another reason that the Left seeks federal power. Federal power mitigates the damage that these ideas do. Control of the money "printing press" means the ability to continually offset and delay the negative consequences of your decisions. When far Left ideas are simply left to function on their own, in cities on the local level, things quickly go awry. Federal power masks the harm. It was actually more federal money (not suitable border policy) that local Democrats like Mayor Eric Adams of New York were looking for recently from the President; money to support their sanctuary city policies. President Biden fortunately opted for a more realistic solution this time, after initially setting the welcome mat which encouraged the original crisis.

The fruit of Left-wing social policies and crime policies can be seen locally in blue cities across the country. But I think that New York is one of the most fascinating examples because there we can see the cause and effect more vividly than we can anywhere else. Each time the city has changed hands politically we have seen the tangible results. Liberals reigned over the city for over 20 years straight throughout the 70's and 80's, presiding over the worse crime wave in its modern history (we're talking murder rates 5 times higher than today). Many of its inner city neighborhoods visually resembled third world countries; President Ronald Reagan was left speechless upon visiting the South Bronx. They are conditions that would not even be tolerated in the city today.

The seismic shift came about when Mayor Rudy Giuliani was elected in the 1990's and remained in power for 8 years. He was followed by Michael Bloomberg who ran as a Republican and kept most of Giuliani's policies in place. The city soon became unrecognizable, but in a good way. New York eventually obtained the reputation of one of "America's safest big cities". Times Square which was once a no man's land after dark became a family spot. But ultimately the first Democrat in years was elected as Mayor in 2014. In just 4 years people were already discussing the deterioration of the city. Today it is a topic of discussion outside of the city.

Why would we turn our national government over to policies and to ideologies that we have seen we cannot turn our cities over to?